


To Doc, From Booker

by TaylorIsBusy



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Apologies, Awkward Romance, Distrust, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Mentions Of Bugs, Nosocomephobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 06:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11030370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaylorIsBusy/pseuds/TaylorIsBusy
Summary: Pelican Town's new miner, Booker Dogwood, has been avoiding the local doctor for an entire season now. Feeling guilty, he swallows his fear of going anywhere near the clinic and brings Dr. Harvey an apology gift. It isn't quite trust yet, but it's the start of something good.





	To Doc, From Booker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UraminoWaltz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UraminoWaltz/gifts).



_You have to do this._

No, he didn’t.

_You have to._

He didn’t.

_Yes, you do, Booker._

Booker Dogwood sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He was exasperated, not only with this whole predicament, but with himself, too.

It wasn’t like him to be this harsh and judgmental, and the fact that he was even considering running away right now- again, like he always did- was inexcusable.

To plant himself where he stood, Booker stamped his boot into the pavement, the impact sending ripples through the tips of his toes. He wished he could be somewhere else- lost in the woods, at the bottom of the ocean, fifty floors into the mines getting his teeth knocked out by walking skeletons- anywhere else but here, waiting on the doorstep of Pelican Town’s clinic.

Though he’d never dragged himself there willingly, it wasn’t his first encounter with the place. He’d woken up on a hospital bed one night (or technically, morning) in the spring after blacking out on a mining trip. He was beaten up so badly that blood was dripping from his mouth, and half of the contents of his backpack were missing.

That had cost Booker in more ways than one. Needless to say, his mining profits had taken a hit and he’d had to replace some of his things, but that wasn’t really what had been on his mind when he came to, panicked and muddled and lashing out at the town doctor before they’d even gotten to know each other’s names.

Thinking back to that made him cringe. He bit at the inside of his cheek, not solely because he could still feel the burn of the floodlight in his eyes and the frigid metal of the cot against his bare back, but because he couldn’t forget the awful things he’d said in the heat of the moment. He’d sworn up and down that he would rather die in the mines than be treated in a hospital, and maybe he’d meant it at the time, but looking back on it now with a level head, that hadn’t been the truth. The doc was only trying to help him.

That was why Dogwood stood here now, his flight-or-flight instincts at war with each other as he held in his hands a small, potted Mammillaria cactus. It was in bloom now, a ring of fuchsia flowers encircling its head (did cacti have heads?). It was nothing special, but hey, Booker liked plants, and he couldn’t wait to see if it attracted any scale bugs when the season changed.

That was, if he ever saw the cactus again after today; it was likely that he wouldn’t.

He peered up at the humble building before him, which admittedly didn’t send chills up his spine like most medical facilities. It was actually kind of homey until you went inside and it was all white walls and the stench of sterilizing chemicals and the sound of tiny metal tools clashing together-

The miner shivered. Never mind, this one bothered him, too.

He raised a fist as bravely as possible, channeling courage from all of the times he’d slain horrible monsters and cracked geodes open with his bare hands and pulled those gnarly ghostfish out of the underground lakes. He could do this.

Inhaling sharply, he rapped on the door once, twice, maybe three times- it was hard to say. Booker’s brain wasn’t all there at the moment, and he felt like he could hardly think or see straight.

He thought about running away again- it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he could just leave the plant on the doc’s doorstep with a note…

Ach, he didn’t have any stationery, did he? A scrap of paper from the bulletin board could work, no one would miss it, but he’d still have to find a pen, and-

Before Dogwood could finish his various thoughts about pens and paper and running away at the speed of light, the door to the clinic swung open. That was one way to make up his mind for him.

When he trained his eyes ahead of him once more, Booker saw the doctor standing in the doorway. He had an eyebrow cocked in incertitude until he seemed to register who was standing in front of him and why he was there.

“Oh,” Dr. Harvey chuckled, clearly nervous, allowing his posture to relax and his shoulders to sink back down. He urged his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “I was wondering why anyone would knock, but… it’s, ah, you.”

 _You._ It was nice to have spoken to someone a mere handful of times and already be infamous to them.

Booker supposed he’d been no better to Harvey, though, referring to him solely as Doc or Doctor and avoiding his sheer existence like the plague; not a cool one like a swarm of locusts, either- more like storms of needles or boiling skin. He hadn’t been acting right, and he’d known better back then, as much as he did now. The doctor was human, too.

“Hey, uh, listen,” Booker started, beating around the bush as he twiddled his fingers against the cactus’ pot. “I just wanted to stop by and say that I’m… well… I, uh…” –he stole a glance at the inside of the clinic and gulped- “I owe you an apology for the way I’ve been actin’.”

The doc looked absolutely floored, wide-eyed and emoting more with his darn mustache than he did with the entire rest of his face. He reminded Booker of a piece of old-timey nostalgia, sepia tones and phonographs and dime-store candy. Maybe that was why it had been so easy to forget that he was a real person, that he was vulnerable, too.

The miner’s stomach suddenly felt funny; he figured it was from being this close to the doctor’s office.

“Booker, it’s all right, I understand-”

“No, you don’t!” Dogwood cut in, his voice more garish than he’d intended. This was a whole new experience for him, and to say that he was tense didn’t even _begin_ to cover it. He cleared his throat. “This ain’t me, the way I been treatin’ you. I got a lotta personal problems with people like yourself an’ places like this, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. My mother raised me with better manners than that.”

Harvey waited patiently for the man to continue, silent as a ghost. Yoba dammit.

“That’s why I brought you this.”

Booker avoided the doctor’s gaze and shoved the cactus out in front of him like he was handing off a baby with a dirty diaper. He wasn’t forceful by any means, but he _was_ shaking like a stone in the middle of an earthquake. That was obvious to the both of them now.

When he didn’t receive any reply, he kept on talking the best that he could muster.

“I saw these out in front of your clinic,” –he nodded his head towards one of the cacti ornamenting either side of the porch- “and reckoned you liked ‘em, and I had a few lyin’ around, so I just thought…”

He trailed off, unsure of what to say. Luckily, Harvey took the reins, albeit in an unexpected direction.

“That’s right, it’s summer now,” he remarked with a voice like honey and puppy dogs and _how could someone in a hellhole like this be so happy?_ “I can’t believe a whole season’s passed since you moved here, and we’ve barely talked.”

Dogwood didn’t say anything, didn’t even look up yet. He wasn’t quite ready to apologize for _that_. He wasn’t even ready to admit he was wholly at fault for this whole mess- he still had his reasons for being standoffish, and it wasn’t as if the doctor had been a complete saint…

 _Hadn’t he?_ He had to have done something wrong somewhere along the line. Booker had probably just forgotten it in all of this commotion.

“Well, thank you!” Dr. Harvey exclaimed, taking the miner by surprise and causing his eyes to drift back up to him.

He gingerly reached for the potted plant, like he wasn’t sure how someone like Booker would react to being touched by someone like him. Despite his anxiousness, he lingered, the tips of their fingers overlapping. The doctor was astonishingly warm for someone exposed to so much cold, unforgiving medical equipment.

The miner chalked that up to the hot weather and forced himself to quit thinking about it.

When Harvey finally plucked the cactus out of his grasp, Booker didn’t know what to do with his hands. He froze for a moment, then fumbled and ran one up through his hair. His forehead was sweaty and there was already dirt in his bangs, and it hadn’t even gone noon yet. His hands were big and rough and burly, and he was none too clean, but the doc hadn’t said a word about it.

Harvey was being so tolerant of him and… Booker felt a twinge of guilt about the way he’d been behaving.

“Come to think of it, I have something for you, too!”

Dogwood frowned. He didn’t want to be rude, but he was pretty certain he wanted nothing from an infirmary within a fifty foot radius of his body, much less in gift form. Before he could protest, though, the doctor dashed back inside, the door swinging wildly behind him.

Judging by the sound of it, he was digging through a drawer or rummaging through a box or something. Booker couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of sick joke. That wouldn’t be so bad, in a way, if Harvey did something like that to him. At least he could rid his life of him for a proper reason instead of making a complete ass of himself based on his own personal hang-ups.

Half a minute later, the doc reemerged, shutting the door behind him this time. Booker was grateful for that, at the very least; anything to keep his eyes from wandering back in there and giving him those sickening flashbacks. He barely had a chance to ask what was going on before Harvey slotted a thick pamphlet into his grasp.

Booker read the cover aloud. “What’s Best For You?: A Guide to Understanding and Valuing Your Local S…” He stumbled and furrowed his brow.

“Sanatorium,” Harvey said with a shrug, flashing his flawless smile full of sparkling white city-slicker, college-boy teeth. “I understand you have some… issues with the clinic, and I don’t expect you to share them with me, but I thought this might help ease your mind a bit. The last thing I want, or any doctor wants, is to hurt you.”

 _Always be thankful for what you’re given, whether you like it or not._ That was what Booker’s mother had taught him, and it was sound advice, but he was having trouble seeing the silver lining in this one.

For starters, this confounded thing had been inside of a drawer inside of a doctor’s office and had probably touched edges with some rather unsavory stuff wherever it had been buried.

Plus, Dogwood didn’t think there could be anything in it worth reading, nothing that he’d believe or take to heart, or that could change fears so deeply-rooted in him by his childhood. It just wasn’t that simple.

Regardless, it was a kind gesture on Harvey’s part. He’d been much more sympathetic towards Booker than any other medical professional he’d met in the past, in places much bigger and more crowded than this, where people told you to get over your problems and never remembered your name. After his entire experience with hospital life and the city, he’d been so damn eager to move back to the sticks.

Booker glimpsed up, folding the pamphlet and tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. He’d meant to say something, but was transfixed by how quickly the doctor’s façade had changed. He was still smiling, but it was somber now, apologetic.

“Your gift was better,” he admitted with a dry laugh. “Sorry about that.”

“Not at all,” Booker blurted out in a hurry, before Harvey could get to thinking that he was a terrible person for giving him an informative piece of paper. “I… ‘preciate the sentiment. It’s, uh-” –he coughed and re-pitched his voice, which had climbed way too high- “nice of you to try and help me, considerin’ I was so mean to you.”

“It’s nothing.” Dr. Harvey cocked his head to the side, his genuine grin returning to his lips, which was for some reason, a big relief to the miner. “I hope that, when you’re ready, we can be friends, Mr. Dogwood.”

The _Mr. Dogwood_ in question swallowed a lump when the doctor extended his arm for a handshake, oozing forgiveness and undeniably unwarranted hospitality.

_Friends, huh?_

Booker hadn’t earned that in the least, and he shuttered to think of the things Harvey had touched with those hands- stethoscopes and medicated rags and those little tiny knives that-

He huffed, deciding to make like a proper gentleman and shake the guy’s hand. He was apparently stronger than he realized, because his touch caused Harvey to gasp and nearly trip over himself. Booker did his best to loosen his grip to accommodate for the… er, lightweight.

“Same to you, Doc.” He wasn’t quite ready for proper names yet, but Harvey didn’t seem to mind too much.

When they broke apart, Booker waved goodbye and spun on his heels to leave. He was so eager to get that infernal clinic out of his sight, but he only made it a few steps before remembering something.

He glanced back over his shoulder and was surprised to see the doctor still standing there, watching him leave with a jovial expression lighting up his face.

“Oh, and don’t forget to water that thing once or twice a week!” he shouted and adjusted the position of his backpack. “And, uh, leave it alone if it gets cold- it don’t need you in the winter.”

Of course, it was summer, so Booker had no idea why he’d even said that. Maybe he was hoping he wouldn’t have to see the clinic again before then.

“It’s not my first!”

Right: the cacti on the stoop. There were likely indoor plants like them, too. At least the miner and the doctor had _one_ thing in common. Harvey was probably none too fond of bugs, though.

Booker shook his head and laughed to himself, tipping his cap before walking away for good this time.

And it only took him six whole minutes to realize he was walking in the wrong direction.

**Author's Note:**

> The miner’s stomach suddenly felt funny; he figured it was from being this close to the doctor('s office).  
> Sure, Booker, you keep telling yourself that. ;)
> 
> Booker belongs to UraminoWaltz.
> 
> Thanks for reading. ♡


End file.
